


Please Come Home

by sadieHD



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, F/F, Self Insert, This is set right after Lauren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 10:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11461503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieHD/pseuds/sadieHD
Summary: Following Doyle's attack, you're left alone in the apartment you shared with your partner, Emily.





	Please Come Home

Sergio leapt on the bed and padded towards your motionless form. The black cat swatted at your nose, imploring you to rise. With difficulty you complied, bending forward and grimacing at the rays of sunlight that managed to slip past the blinds. You wondered how long you’d been asleep. Hours? Days? It didn’t matter anymore.

You blearily stepped out of bed and waddled over to the food dish on the floor, tailed by the silent cat. “Here you go, buddy,” you said, pouring the cat food. You shivered at the sound of your own voice. It had been so long since you’ve heard someone’s voice, longer still since someone’s said anything in the apartment.

A chill came over you. Shaking, you collapsed on the sofa, curling in the blankets that still smelled too much like her. You breathed in her scent, desperate for any sort of reprieve from her absence. Anything to take away the gaping hole where the woman of your life was supposed to be. The woman Doyle took away.

The apartment had never felt so hollow. Weathered books were stacked meticulously on the shelves in the structured chaos she always enjoyed, magazines were intricately placed on the living room table for appearances even though she never liked reading those cheesy tabloids in the first place, the bedroom and closet were littered with clothes she’d hastily discard while attempting to repack her go bag; things were everywhere but they were just things without her. They were nothing without her giving it life. You trembled within the confines of the blanket. You were just a piece of furniture without her here to give you life, give you purpose.

What was worse than the emptiness was the memories. No matter where you looked, she was there. You were in the kitchen cooking her dinner when she’d first said, “I love you,” and you hadn’t been able to walk on the cool tile without her voice echoing through the caverns of your heart and soul. You had stopped your stirring in shock, trying to register what you heard. When you had turned around her ears were pink, but she was smiling and hadn’t retracted what she said. Instead she repeated it. “I love you,” she said, wrapping her arms around you and bringing your mouth to hers in a deep kiss, curling her lips at your soft moans.

There was no cure for your own mind. You shut your eyes until they were sore and your ears with your palms until all you could hear was your pounding heartbeat. But it didn’t matter. She was within you, slowly ripping you apart. And there was nothing you could do about it. You pressed your hands against your stomach, the spot where she was stabbed. It ached. Her entire body was like a phantom limb; you could feel every caress, every injury, every touch she’d felt tenfold.

You hadn’t realized the profound emptiness of silence until it had already engulfed you, it’s oppressive presence completely surrounding you and muffling you in a state of despair and mourning. If you wanted, you could go open the window and breathe in the blaring sirens and whirr of cars, or you could return to the BAU and take comfort in the presence of your friends. In some ways, that’s exactly what you wanted. But it didn’t matter what you wanted.

You reached into the drawer of the table next to the couch, pulling out a framed picture. It mattered what you needed. And what you needed, you’d never see again. You startled as a droplet of water landed on the glass. You thought you’d run out of tears long ago. Nonetheless, you huddled on the couch, stroking the picture of the couple, staring at the snapshot memory of a happier life.

Your finger traced her figure. “ _Emily _,” you breathed. “ _Please come home _.”____

**Author's Note:**

> requested by anonymous


End file.
